Risen from Darkness
by Ithilwen Faelivrin
Summary: Found and raised by a murdering mastermind. Rescued and adopted by a genius detective and a war veteran. Invited to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Just your regular, damaged war orphan.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Risen from Darkness

**Summary**: Found and raised by a murdering mastermind. Rescued and adopted by a genius detective and a war veteran. Invited to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Just your regular, damaged war orphan.

**World**: Sherlock Holmes and Harry Potter

**Chapter One:**

* * *

Azkaban and Nurmengard were not the only prisons of the Wizarding World. There were others, so many, many others, but there was one deathly feared, ranked among Azkaban and Nurmengard both. No one spoke its name in fear of reprisal from its strange, bloodthirsty Keepers except in the fewest of occurrences. It was in an older, less civilized part of the world, merely a gaping abyss in the earth. Prisoners are thrown in, and once one enters that terrible abyss, there is no coming out. But every so often, something rises from the darkness, from that Hell on earth. Something…Something is sent back.

* * *

_I was born in hell, forged by suffering and hardened by pain…yet still, in that terrible darkness, my innocent mother gave to me a name that meant, of all things, __**Hope.**_

* * *

"Professor McGonagall, this is Marie." The witch stared at what she had been certain was an intricate doll blink those far too observant eyes – Did they darken in color? – and stand up from where she had been kneeling at the lit fireplace with grace that could not, _should not_, be found in a mere child. The fair headed man that had answered the door of 221B introduced her to the child that Albus Dumbledore had spoken of. The child was fourteen, not the customary eleven, but extenuating circumstances had prevented her from attending Hogwarts or even receiving her letter. The Headmaster had already spoken with the child and had her tutored for the past year so that she would be able to be on par with her peers.

"Good day, Madam, am I to assume that you are the emissary sent from Britain's Magical Institute?" Each word was carefully spoken in a manner more fitting to an aged Lord than that of a young girl of fourteen as she inclined her head towards the elder woman. Her voice was soft but strength could clearly be heard within it. Dark, almost wild curls fell over her shoulders as the fourteen year old, Marie, sat back down in front of the fireplace in a single, elegant movement.

"I-I am. I trust that you have heard of me from the Headmaster?" The experienced Transfiguration Mistress didn't quite know why she stuttered underneath the child's blank stare, there was…there was something _empty _about her. She could feel _nothing _from the child; it was as if she were only a Golem or some other Magical construct. Even though she could not feel Auras or the such, she could still feel the spark of Magic that surrounded all Magical beings. That spark was absent from the child.

Something flickered in the girl's blank eyes (_Thank the gods_), as if a memory had been trigged by her words. "Yes…he often begins the lessons with anecdotes concerning the school…I believe that you are the Transfiguration Mistress, if my memory is correct?" She tilted her head to the side in a manner reminiscent of a young fox while her fingers played with the material of her dark skirt.

"Indeed I am. The Headmaster has led me to believe that he has already Sorted you, but as you were not Sorted on the grounds of Hogwarts herself, you may ask for a ReSorting."

"My House…is acceptable to me." The girl seemed to have weighed her words, considered the possible outcome of what she had said, but spoke nonetheless. She considered where she had been Sorted to be suitable, if it adequate.

"Very well." The older witch sighed in relief as those terrible eyes slid away from her and returned to the flickering flames of the fireplace. There was something empty about the child…something wrong….it was just wasn't right…for someone so young to have such _dead_ eyes.

* * *

_No, you would not do well in Hufflepuff as you are. The simple kindness displayed within that House would be too much for your already fragile heart. Yet there is a great capacity for love inside of you, strange that that innocence and purity has survived so long. _

_You respect and admire knowledge as any Raven would, rather, you lust for it. But that polite façade…you could never worship as they do…No…perhaps not Ravenclaw…yet any would admit that you would belong in that House…_

_How odd…the masks that you wear are so similar to those of the Slytherins…the current you would thrive in that Pit of Snakes. Yes, you are no stranger to manipulation, as clever and sly as any Serpent that has been in that House… is that not what has allowed you to survive?_

_But there is courage, so much of it lurking inside of you…a leap of faith indeed…very well child…I have made my choice…I wish you the best of luck, one young…you shall need every bit of strength and power you have accumulated over the years to survive and perhaps, perhaps, you will discover that which you have lost…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Risen from Darkness

**Summary**: Found and raised by a murdering mastermind. Rescued and adopted by a genius detective and a war veteran. Invited to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Just your regular, damaged war orphan.

**World**: Sherlock Holmes and Harry Potter

**Chapter Two**:

* * *

Finding Platform 9 ¾ at Kings Cross Station and actually boarding the Hogwarts Express was a trial in itself due to the presence of a rather infuriating person called Sherlock Holmes. It was actually quite easy to find the Platform itself and phase through the rather solid looking brick wall, but what made it difficult was Sherlock's incredulity of the stupidity of the people who passed through the station every day. He found it a personal insult that the surrounding crowd never noticed the disappearance of many people as they walked through a brick wall and then proceeded to insult the Wizarding School's choice of transport. Sherlock couldn't quite believe that a magically advanced society transported their children to school by_ train_. It took several not quite by accident stomps on his feet by John and a rather bland glare from the fourteen year old girl that they were accompanying for his griping to cease. Even then, one could still hear the odd muttered comment about the stupidity of it all.

As they had arrived approximately 45 minutes before 11 o'clock (the time that the ticket said the train was departing), the odd family of three made their way to a café inside Platform 9 ¾, sitting in relative silence while consuming a light lunch and enjoying the frothy Butterbeer that the Headmaster had gotten them slightly addicted to. _Delicous. _Even Sherlock, humbug that he was, partook of the liquid delight.

"Marie, Albus told me about the…prejudice of most of the students. Don't let them walk all over you, but don't go overboard." Abruptly, John set down his drink as a serious look came over his face.

"What John is trying to say is not to kill anyone as that would strain Magical and non-Magical relations. Personally, I think you'll end up having to kill one or two-"

"_Sherlock!_" Accompanying John's annoyed yell was a swat to the back of Sherlock's head that made him choke on his drink.

"What? You'll leave her at the mercy of unscrupulous Magicals because you don't want to upset Mycroft or Dumbledore?" Pale blue eyes glared at his best friend as he made his point. "While she is quite capable of taking care of herself, she's considered a Muggleborn even though we don't know who her real parents were, what a dreadful word that is, Muggle. Blegh. Thus, she will have to prove herself by showing that her lack of a heritage is not detrimental at all and that she is just as strong as any Pureblood."

"Of course not! I just don't want for an incident to occur. Knowing you, you'd probably stage a fight so that the general populace will be in awe of her, and consequently, you."

"You wound me, Watson, would I ever do such a thing?"

"Yes." John answered that question without blinking, he knew his roommate well enough to know that although he wouldn't place Marie in any _permanent _danger, he would have little or no qualms about placing her in _temporary _danger.

"…I won't strike first and I won't let petty comments draw me out." Both men turned towards the subject of their conversation as she munched on her salad, her soft declaration not missed by their ears. She _was_ changing. Before, she would have struck any that insulted her down without thinking, but now…now she had promised that she would not be the instigator of any fight.

"That doesn't mean you can't _end _any fight you end up in…"

Sherlock smirked gleefully at John's compromise.

* * *

The train to Hogwarts was already moving when the door to Marie's compartment was suddenly opened and she had to resist the urge to react violently. Even after the years away from that…_life_…she could not rid herself of it. No matter how many times Sherlock decided to "shock" her out of it. The urge was disguised with a cheery mask that she had worked on till it was perfect, but she was almost startled out of it when she came face to face with the _boy_. Her first thoughts were that she had somehow fallen asleep or that she was Seeing something else. Mentally, she frowned as she realized that she was being foolish. Of course she would run into him sooner or later, it was now merely the question of_ if_ and _when_ she would kill him. Pulling the ear buds out of her ears, she smiled at them, "Hello, are you three merely going to stand there? This _is _the last compartment and there is far too much space for one person."

"Um, yeah, thanks. I'm Harry Potter, my mates are Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley." The boy, the _blasted _boy introduced himself and his friends sheepishly, with ebony hair mussed up and bright emerald eyes behind round glasses.

"I'm-"

"Oh my god! You're Marie Holmes, right!?" The brunette interrupted her before she could introduce herself, recognizing her from the newspaper and magazine articles as the adopted daughter of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

"What, are you famous or something?" Rudely, the ginger that had been introduced as Ron Weasley spoke while the bushy-haired girl's excitement grew.

"Or something…" Her voice came out quietly as she internally cursed her adoptive family and herself for not locking the compartment, that would have prevented _anyone _from entering and bothering her. Especially anyone that recognized her.

"She's like you Harry. She's survived the impossible!"


End file.
